


Bitch, Is You Blind?

by welove1stickyboi



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 1) please kick my ass i will fix it, 2) creative licence, :), Blind Character, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, i tried my best guys, if i fuck up in any way shape or form about being blind, lezgo, no beta we die like men, take those three tags as you wish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welove1stickyboi/pseuds/welove1stickyboi
Summary: 'He itched to take his mask off. The webs around his lungs constricted with every second he wasn't seeing, and it was terrifying. Peter felt his eyes sting. The eyes he wasn't seeing with.You can do this.(Danger, danger, danger, the spidey-sense shot back.)'peter parker fights a cannon as i fight canon, loses, gets slammed into a wall, infests near-priceless technology with memes, shades steve rogers, rides a bus, more @ 11





	1. dammit jim i'm a spider not a sensible human being

**Author's Note:**

> i. good luck

“We. Should not, uh, be doing this? At all?”

 

“Yeah, but you're doing it anyway,” Peter pointed out.

 

The suit rested next to Ned. The light was off. Softly, the evening sky’s glow filtered through the curtains, far outshone by the busy laptop. The posters on the walls were muted in their usual colour, the bed frame only a silhouette, and the two friends restless shadows.

 

Peter paced the ceiling, occasionally looking down to check progress. _And on Ned_ , his mind helpfully supplied.

 

Peter shoved a hand through his hair, gripping and pulling at the back as his face pinked. It was lucky the room was dark. _Shut up,_ he hissed back. Then glanced down.

 

Ned was frowning at lines of code spanning his laptop screen. He looked back up to the other boy, and Peter nervously noted that his eyes were glittering.

 

“ _We're_ doing this. But if we get caught, just you.”

 

Peter dropped. He landed in a crouch, splayed fingers brushing the floor with a quiet grace. Ned yelped, flinching away and clutching his laptop protectively. “ _Dude._ ”

 

“No, no - uh, sorry - I just heard something,” Peter explained, waving his hands wildly, eyes gleaming in the blinking light. “You just switched frequencies, right?”

 

Ned grinned, excitement mounting. “Yeah?” he quizzed. His fingers flew over the keys.

 

Ned paused for a moment, diving into his pocket to drag out a crumpled piece of paper. Ink scrawled across it, often crossed out and with notes floating around them. Eyes flitting to the bottom of the page, Peter noticed a penned ring looping around the last couple of lines. “What's that?”

 

“If it works? You're gonna love it.”

 

“ _Ned!_ ” Peter protested, peeking over his shoulder as Ned tapped.

 

“Nope,” Ned said cryptically. The suit fizzed an electric blue, then faded back to grey. He grinned.

 

The boy flipped back to the original task. “You said you heard… something?” he asked, distracted as he tapped and backtracked.

 

The static started up as soon as Ned hit the last button. Peter punched the air. “Yeah! Can you focus in on that?”

 

In lieu of replying, Ned pressed a key.

 

The static got louder.

 

The two boys gasped as a voice came through.

 

“- _arehouse at the edge of Queens, so get your fine ass over here Mr. Man With A Pl_ -”

 

“Mr. Stark!”

 

Ned looked suddenly queasy. “Oh my _god_ , we should _not_ be doing this, _at_ all -”

 

“ _Ned,_ ” Peter blinked widely, grasping Ned’s hands as he reached for the laptop lid and looked him earnestly in the eye. The poor guy looked bright red, glancing down at his grip. _Stress must be getting to him_ , Peter mused sympathetically.

 

“C’mon, _dude._ ” he pleaded.

 

Ned dropped his head, still pink in the cheeks. Peter only caught the reluctant “fine” due to his enhanced hearing.

 

“Yes!” he cheered. “Ned, I love you,” he told him. Aforementioned boy groaned.

 

“I hate it when you do that,” he murmured. Determinedly, he huffed out a breath. “Right.”

 

Static burst from the speakers again, interspersed with unclear speaking. Ned’s brows creased. The _tap-tapping_ sped up.

 

There was near-silence for a full minute as he worked.

 

It was awe-inspiring, Peter thought, watching Ned hack into something of _Mr. Stark’s._ Technically, it should be impossible. But, he sneaked a side glance at the boy’s face, of course Ned'd be good at surpassing that. He was amazing.

 

Suddenly, _very_ clear numbers came from the laptop’s speakers, obviously spoken by FRIDAY. Peter stared for a moment, eyes glazing over, then scrambled for a pen and paper. He frantically copied the numbers as the AI listed them off.

 

The connection roared with static for one last time, and then cut to dead silence. “Aw, man,” Ned muttered, typing furiously.

 

_Tap-tap, tap tap tap, tap tap. Tap, tap, taptaptaptaptap-_

 

Finally, he leaned back, huffing out a breath. Shadows danced across his face. “Lost it.”

 

“But Ned, Ned! I got coordinates!” He waved the piece of paper with the numbers he'd written down on it in the air. “They said ‘warehouse at the edge of Queens’! I - I've gotta-” Peter was buzzing now, hands jerking in his haste. He needed to get out there!

 

Ned was wrapping things up, unplugging the suit and throwing it at him, transferring the coordinates into the mask. As Peter fixed up the suit and wriggled into it, he slammed his laptop shut.

 

Peter threw open the window. He had one foot out when Ned called him back.

 

“Dude! _Mask_?”

 

“Aw, no! I almost forgot. Thanks.” Peter bounded over and was exasperatedly passed the spandex. Their fingers brushed, and Ned looked vaguely pink again. Peter’s brows furrowed. “Man, you good? ‘Cuz if you're coming down with something then you should probably -”

 

“ _Peter,_ ” Ned pointed at the window, not looking him in the eye. “Go kick ass.”

 

“O-oh, right!” He scrambled back to the window. “I owe you one!” Peter yelled as he swung out.

 

Inside, Ned slid down against the bed and groaned. His hands covered his face. “Yeah,” he whispered.

 

The city was alight. Cars beeped and roared below him, skewing the road with their orange beams. Silhouettes hurry past them, green men signalling their safety. A pub’s door crashes open momentarily, flooding warm golden light and cheery drunken noise into the night. He catches a snatch of song - “ _They shone like diamonds! She thi-”_ before it slams shut again.

 

 _Thwip. Swing. Thwip. Swing. Thwip. Swing._ It's a comfortable rhythm. He's done it many times before. His muscles contract and loosen as he flies to the city’s music.

 

_Thwip. Sw-_

 

“ _Good evening, Peter,”_ Karen greeted him. “ _I've prepared your route. Would you like to see it?”_

 

“ _Agh!_ ” Peter dropped down to avoid a pigeon. “Hey, Karen! Yes, please.”

 

Queens was suddenly illuminated in red and blue. A turquoise line appeared, and Peter changed course to follow it.

 

“ _You may increase your speed if you were to ‘hitch a lift’,”_ Karen suggested, and the route-line moved to follow a truck headed along the road.

 

Peter let go of his last line of web, free falling through the cool air a second, adrenaline sparking, before landing on the vehicle in a crouch. “That was cool,” he muttered, grinning, to himself.

 

“ _That was_ very _cool, but a little risky. Nice job!_ ” Karen said warmly.

 

The boy was struck with an idea. “Hey, uh, Karen, would you be able to play something? Like maybe _Toxic,_ or maybe, I don't know - Mr. Stark likes AC/DC, right? What if -”

 

“ _I do not have the necessary programming to play ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears, Peter. I could add it to the list of improvements Mr. Stark could look at, if you'd like._ ”

 

“No! No _nononononono_ . Mr. Stark doesn't need to add anything!” Imagine having to explain to Mr. Stark that he wanted to listen to Britney. _Nope, not happening._ “Just a… thought.”

 

“ _Understood. Destination 500 meters to your right and closing. Jump now._ ”

 

Peter abandoned the delivery truck he’d been hitching a ride on by yeeting himself off to the side and rolling into the dewy grass. He tripped over his own feet scrambling upright again but regained his balance. Over the bush he was concealed behind, he spotted the hideout in the near distance.

 

Shady warehouse. “Classic. I like this guy’s style,” Peter commented, waving a hand at the dilapidated building. “Whaddya think, Karen?”

 

The turquoise rings ever collecting and displaying information around the edge of his mask bloomed larger momentarily in response. “ _There are over 20 individuals in this building, along with some high-level weaponry. Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark? He will be more than capable of handling this situation, Peter._ ”

 

“I know, I know he can, but no thank you. _I_ can handle this situation. This is _big_ _stuff_ , Karen! This is _awesome_! Activate Enhanced Reconnaissance Mode.”

 

“ _Activating Enhanced Reconnaissance Mode_.”

 

His visual zoomed in on the building. It mostly glared purple, but there were a few yellow-red figures milling around. Two of them lingered just inside the front entrance, door swinging innocently in the breeze. Peter drummed his fingers against his thigh. _Don't want to disturb them. Best take the polite way in._

 

“I'm gonna head to the other side, see if there's less people there.”

 

The thermal vision flicked back to regular colours. “ _Great thinking,_ ” his AI responded.

 

Peter swung around to the back of the facility, and punched a window. It shattered. Cautiously maneuvering his way over the glass, he then carefully crawled across the ceiling as a few people came running to see what the commotion was (but didn't look up at the ceiling. They would be the first to die in a horror movie, as evidenced twice). One sported a fedora and was arguing around a lollipop, the second was adorably short and wearing a black mini-trenchcoat, and the third was intimidatingly buff with a pink crop top. As they bickered over what had happened, the vigilante swung into the main rooms.Because this was a _fancy_ warehouse. With _separate walls_ and _sectors._

 

The base of his skull blared  ice cold. _Spidey-sense._

 

“ _Unwelcome persons approaching, Peter. You may wish to conceal yourself._ ”

 

Peter looked around at the exceedingly bare room and ceiling. He muttered, “Guess I'll die.”

 

“ _We’re hoping to avoid that outcome._ ”

 

A bunch of other people walked through the room he was traversing (wherever that was. _Why doesn't this place have signs? Like “You are currently at the beheading station. Dangerous weapons and unnecessarily dramatic boss to your right”. So inconvenient._ ). One of them glanced up and lost hold of their coffee. “Sp-”

 

“Spoopy? Please never say that again. What's hangin’, guys? Oh, right,” Spider-Man grinned, “It's me!” He pointed at the half-empty coffee cup bleeding out on the dusty floor. “You gonna drink that? I could do with some caffeine.”

 

His spidey-sense grew ever more icy, digging its frosted claws into his neck. He tried to hide his instinctive flinch from the group below. _What now?_

 

“ _Armed adversaries entering. And it is past sunset. Caffeine is not advised._ ”

 

“You're not my real mom.”

 

The three that had originally investigated the smashed window ran back into the room. Buff-crop-top-man noped right back out again. Fedora the Explorer dropped his lolly upon sighting him, and the wannabe-JD was -

 

The ice in his neck _burned_.

 

\- Rummaging for something grey and glinting in the depths of his trenchcoat. It clicked _. Surprise, it’s a gun! Congratulations!_ One always showed up sooner or later. Spider-Man sighed. He tugged the mask so that the lower part of his face was visible as he smirked. “Awww. I really had faith in you guys, y’know?”

 

He dropped down, chugged the coffee, and got to work.

 

While webbing the final guy up (“it'll come off in a couple of hours, chill, chill”) and pulling his mask back down, he spotted a white door with a neat little green light spinning above it. His spidey-sense went wild - _ding ding ding, correctisimo!_ \- and he grinned.

 

“ _Possible entrance to your left, Peter,_ ” Karen informed him.

 

“Huh.” _Interesting._

 

Two seconds later, Spider-Man crashed through the door.

 

The room was fairly small - just a few shaky-looking worktables, the tools cluttering their surfaces glinting in the dim lighting.  Under his feet, the floor was crusty with dried spillages and riddled with minor holes (and judging from the blackening inside and around them, it had been from something that had _ate through the floor_ ). Peter wrinkled his nose at the smell of sour milk and burning. _Ew._ At the far end of the room was a hulking statue thing covered in an old white bedsheet. It looked like a bedsheet, anyway. Or maybe he was just tired.

 

The base of his skull was quietly humming, but he brushed it off. This entire room was a hazard, and the spidey-sense usually got worked up over nothing. It was probably worried he'd trip over the dubious flooring.

 

“ _I am detecting an individual. He is aware of your presence. Be careful._ ”

 

A grey-whiskered man tensed as he burst in, then they slowly crouched behind a desk, leaning heavily on a cane. Probably some sort of underdog scientist he could leave be. Peter could still see their frazzled hair sticking up from behind the stained wood.

 

“Hey! I'm here, queer -” the steel mouth of a _huge freaking cannon_ was revealed as the old scientist tugged off the white cloth concealing it. His spidey-sense rang, shrill and hot at the back of his mind, too late. _Oh hell, it wasn’t a statue._ Dust flooded the air, visible from the cracked fluorescent lights overhead. The Not-Statue started whining and Peter ducked behind a desk himself, heart pounding. “- and currently _full_ of fear. _What the hell, dude._ ”

 

From his experience, giant cannons were generally Not Good News.

 

“ _I would advise abandoning this situation, Peter._ ”

 

“Karen, mute.” _Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god-_

 

“Hello, Spider-Man!” cackled the old guy with the weapon he did not yet know the level of danger of. “I was waiting for one of you to turn up - I just didn't expect the, what do you kids call it? Noob.”

 

“Hey, hey, let's play nice,” Peter called out from behind the flimsy wood, voice miraculously steady. His thoughts raced. _If he was expecting the Avengers, he’s either too cocky, has a deathwish, or a_ really good _weapon._ “My mommy says that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all!” The words were bitter on his tongue, but he twisted them until they sounded playful.

 

“Aw, but she's not here, eh?” the old man wheezed. The guy dragged in another rough breath before continuing, “Why don't we have a bit of _banter_ between _baes._ ”

 

The whining of the cannon was increasing, filling the small space with its petulance. _I wanna shoot somebody! I wanna shoot somebody!_ The noise smouldered in his brain. Coupled with the iron clench of the spidey-sense ( _danger, danger, danger,_ it shrieked), it was doubly hard to concentrate.

 

His fingers picked absently at a suspicious orange stain on the side of the desk as he thought.

 

 _What was the cannon going to do?_ If the guy had a _specific_ motive, which had to be towards superheroes in general, which would fit with how he was acting, it could do anything, and the dude was clearly confident it would work on Spider-Man. If the guy had a _deathwish_ , it meant it could possibly blow up, killing himself, the guy, and who knows how many other people.

 

So. Bad, or worse.

 

Whatever the case, he needed to disable it. Fast.

 

“... you mean bros? Sorry dude, I'm getting the vibe you're not really my type.”

 

Peter started edging around the table, out of sight of his opponent. Placing each careful limb on the ground, he made sure it stuck, so he wouldn't fall over and create enough noise so that the mad old dude would know where he was. Hopefully, he thought Spider-Man was still behind a desk near the door.

 

Lift, place, stick. Lift, place, stick. Lift, place, stick. The old boy was going to start monologuing any time now so. Yeah. Hopefully.

 

“Spider-Man! I thought we really had a spark!” he cackled. The scientist, and more importantly, the machine, were dangerously ( _danger, danger, danger_ ) close now. “Hoo…”

 

Peter peeked around a cupboard built into the desk he was currently hiding behind. His ribs felt tight with nerves. He could see tartan slippers and a cane shuffling around on the floor underneath a dirty white lab coat. They were close enough that if he stretched, he would be able to brush the scientist with his fingertips.

 

The whining from the cannon was getting louder, and a glowing blue light was emanated, outlining the shadow of the madman he was working his way around. It was reaching its peak.

 

_Come on. You can either jump out of nowhere and have him panic and blast you in the face, or sneak around the other side._

 

“Bros? Care to inform an old dog of a new term? I'm not as down with the kids as I wish I was, but at least ‘heroes’ never change, _right_?”

 

( _Danger, danger, DANGER._ ) The slippers stopped shuffling, and that was all the warning he got.

 

The blue light was suddenly a lot brighter, and he saw the guy properly. The cane was white. His eyes were unseeing, flitting from one place to the next, never focusing for more than a split-second at a time.

 

The lip of the cannon faced him as he froze behind the desk.

 

_DANGER-_

 

“Taste inadequacy, _fam_.”

 

Burning blue slammed him into a wall with a sickening _crunch_ and _pain,_ and the world swayed into darkness.


	2. to catch a bus u have to think like a bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony: hey kid can u not fight  
> captain america: son u can't fight  
> peter, actively throwing himself into the fight: #YOLO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help! me!

Peter awoke with blood in his mouth and the sounds of fighting all around him.

 

“-DERMAN, WHAT IS YOUR STATUS?”

 

“ _ Fine! _ ” he yelped automatically. “Hey, guys!”

 

His visual was an utter black, and his spidey-sense thrummed dubiously. He took in a sharp breath, swallowed, pushed down his panic.  _ What? _

 

“Karen, unmute. Why is my mask not working but my comms are?” His voice was shaking.

 

Karen didn't reply. She must've been messed up by being slammed into a wall. Peter slumped back onto the floor and tried to think past his fear.  _ C’mon. _

 

Next question: was  _ he  _ messed up from being slammed into a wall? 

 

Well. There was the not-being-able-to-see thing, but that was just his suit acting up. It still made anxiety twist through his blood at the  _ lack of literally anything  _ but it was - would be - cool. Just a temporary thing. He just... needed to keep his mask on for a little while. He didn’t know who Mr. Stark was fighting at the minute, and it wasn’t worth the risk of his identity. Peter’s heartrate quickened at the thought.

 

He took in a shuddering breath, and tried to make his voice peppy. It was a good thing he'd had coffee. “Hey, guys, watch out for the giant cannon! It packs a punch!”

 

“That was wrecked when we got here, kid! Did you get hit? Who fired it?” Oh, thank god. It really was Tony.

 

And the cannon was broken. Good. He still ached all over. “Some scientist dude! He not around?”

 

“No, he must have fuc-  _ come on _ , Steve, don’t lecture me about language,  _ you come from Brooklyn. _ ”

 

_ And _ Captain America.  _ Okay.  _

 

He ran a check.  _ Feet. _ Wiggling his toes painlessly, he concluded that his feet were okay.  _ Legs _ . Peter pulled his hands up near his chest and slowly pushed himself up off the floor and into a crouch. He then moved from that to standing, then leaning against the wall, hands touching it utilising it all the while. Peter sucked in another breath and tipped his head back.  _ Think logically.  _ The sounds of fighting were ongoing, and he needed to be sure he wasn't a liability before he got involved.

 

Legs were a teeny bit achey, but nothing he couldn't handle. He worked his way through the rest of his body, and it turned out that the suit had absorbed most of the impact. Thank god.

 

“This isn't your fight, kid! What’re you doing here?” Tony yelled through the comm, static punctuating his every word. That decided Peter, a resolve strengthening him.

 

He could fight without seeing. It'd be fine.

 

“I just got a super tight budget on House Hunters, Mr. Stark, and this place has got that,” He rubbed his fingers ( _ that he couldn’t see _ , his mind interjected) together, “Really  _ raw _ ,  _ urban _ feel, you know?”

 

Tony swore on the other end of the line. “No, no, Cap, he's fine, he says - _I know_ he shouldn't be here! _Says the punk who joined_ _the army five times_! _Kid_ , you need to leave. _N_ -” He was cut off by a shot fired, and Tony cursed as he dodged it.

 

Peter could work with other senses. He took a blind step forward, and crashed into something solid. Fear flooded through his veins, icy and overwhelming. He staggered back a step.

 

_ Logical, Parker.  _

 

Flitting his hands over the thing quickly ( _ cold, metal, chunky, whirring, vaguely humanoid _ ) he realised it was a… robot? A robot. Ah.

 

Metal slammed into his stomach. 

 

He was left gasping on the floor, blood roaring in his ears. Swallowing hard, he scrambled blindly back until he hit the wall. He used it to get up again, then put another foot forward. One at a time. Come on.

 

The tip of something metal grazed his stomach with its tip as he instinctively leaned away, spidey-sense buzzing just in time. A sword. “Oh. Well. That's an issue,” he muttered. Something whistled in the air very near to him. He jumped back automatically, feeling his heart flutter in his chest as he landed and stumbled on some ( _ stone? _ ) -  _ something _ he wasn’t aware of. 

 

Metal clanged into the wall. He gasped in a breath. Probably in place of clanging into  _ him. _ This robot was evidently curious about what Peter’s blood looked like. “Okay. O _ kay. _ God, this is scary.”

 

“Go  _ ho _ -” Mr. Stark was cut off. Peter suddenly felt a lot smaller with the ripping away of a familiar voice.

 

_ Come on!  _ he yelled at himself.

 

He still had sound, and touch, and smell. ( _ Danger, danger, danger. _ ) And the spidey-sense. Peter shoved down the carnivorous butterflies gnawing at his insides. He  _ could _ do this. _ Focus, Spider-Man. _

 

There was a grating sound from where the robot was trying to drag its blade out from the concrete. Peter shot a web in its general direction to glue it to the wall. 

The grating stopped. It'd worked.  _ Thank god. _

 

He crouched down and as his hands touched the floor, he could suddenly make a lot more sense of his surroundings.

 

“Oh, holy hell,” he whispered.

 

Vibrations. Everywhere. There was a yell (sounding suspiciously like Captain America) and a  _ clack _ as metal and a human body was slammed into a wall, and he felt the buzz in his fingertips. Whining as Iron Man fired up his repulsors was mimicked in a sort of  _ whirring _ (but not?) in the ground that peaked then lessened as he fired. It rumbled again as the blast hit its target.

 

So. Just feel stuff, even if he couldn't quite see it at the minute. Right. Peter very slowly got up onto his feet, and tried to concentrate on the vibrations he could feel through them. Okay. He cautiously moved on again, and tried to work with what he had.

 

_ (Danger, danger, danger.) _

 

_Buzz._ _Clank, stomp, clank, stomp, cla-_

 

_ To your left. _

 

He ducked down just in time to hear the  _ swoosh _ of a blade above his head, then threw out a fist wildly to his side. It connected with solid metal. Something cold pooled in his stomach.  _ You can do this _ .

 

The thing he had just socked in the shin brought its weapon down upon him again, but he rolled forward, feeling rubble grate against his skin.

 

It was a good thing the robot was moving so slowly, Peter realized, or he'd be dead already.

 

He turned back around. From what he could hear, the thing was trying to dig its weapon out of the floor. Peter walked cautiously around to its rear, and was hit with an idea.

 

He ran his hands up the bot’s back, searching. Finding crannies for his fingers, he slowly pulled himself up, making progress in small and steady measures. His breath caught every time the thing moved too fast. Eventually, he found himself on its shoulders. The perfect position to do what he needed to do.

 

_ Breathe in, breathe out. You are not scared, _ Peter told himself.

 

_ Graaaaaaaate, whistle. _  The bot's sword was free, and so was it. Peter gripped tighter.

 

It was like one of those bull rides at the fair, where the mechanical animal bucked like hell and the rider held on for dear life. His brain was in a blender. Peter curled in on himself, clutching desperately around the neck. He felt upwards, identifying some sort of face. “Karen, taser webs.” He shot them there.

 

Webs came out, but the robot didn't cease. Apparently he couldn't change his web combinations.  _ This is fine.  _ He swallowed down the hard lump in his throat.

 

_ Whine. Shot.  _ The bot below him was suddenly struck down, knocking him with it. Pain ripped into his back, and he bit down on a yelp. Peter struggled to get out from underneath the heavy metal. Repulsor fire, he guessed.

 

“ _Kid._ ” Yup, repulsor fire. This was not going well.

 

The cold in his stomach had disappeared, replaced by a tightness around his torso, like one of his own webs was stringing his lungs together.  _ Breathe,  _ he told himself.  _ You can  _ do _ this.  _ It was like a mantra he repeated as he searched blindly for another opponent.  _ You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. _

 

He itched to take his mask off. The webs around his lungs constricted with every second he wasn't seeing, and it was terrifying. Peter felt his eyes sting.  _ The eyes he wasn't seeing with. _

 

_ You can do this. _

 

( _ Danger, danger, danger _ , the spidey-sense shot back.)

 

Peter slapped his hands flat on the rubble-strewn ground and slowly gained a clearer picture of what was happening. In the far corner, repulsors buzzed and whined on repeat in a strange rhythm with metal thuds as robots were felled en masse. Tony grunted in his ear, presumably too occupied with his attackers to yell at Peter. To his right, there was the unmistakably more  _ human  _ sound of flesh cracking into cold steel and hot panting as what he assumed was Captain America fought with his shield and  _ bare hands.  _ Holy hell.

 

Apparently most of the bots (god, if that's what they  _ were _ ) did not know of his existence, because he'd attracted minimal attention in comparison to Mr. Stark and the Captain. Well. Time to change that.

 

_ Come on, Spider-Man.  _ He carefully walked his way over to the supersoldier, hands out in front and coldness growing. His feet hovered before every step, searching for hazards, and his breath caught every time he met one. He huffed out a breath. The clanking grew nearer.  _ You can do this. _

 

He wasn't much help on the ground, because he wasn't able to react fast enough without getting hurt. Okay. Peter climbed up a wall, setting himself up in a corner where he could shoot his webs.

 

He shot so many webs that the tendons in his wrist started to ache, and he wished he could full out just punch the bots.  _ Well, at least I'm not going to have bruised hands. _ Peter had gotten a few suspicious glances from the few times that they hadn't healed in time for class, and sweater paws only got you so far. He really needed to save up for some fingerless gloves, he mused as he kicked a bot that had blundered over in what he hoped was its face.

 

Noise came from all directions.  _ Clank, whine, thu-clank, yell, thud,  _ crack,  _ huff,  _ cursing from the comm,  _ static _ from the comm, static from the  _ bots _ ,  _ clink-clank _ , hiss of a sword spinning over his head and sticking in the wall,  _ Captain America  _ being yeeted,  _ thud, clank, whiiiiine, blast -  _

 

A stronger vibration rumbled up the wall and into his fingertips. It had come from his left, down below. Someone had rolled to a stop in front of him. He aimed a web shooter where their boots had clicked.

 

“Spider-Man, stand down.” Captain America.  _ Ohhhhh sweet jesus.  _

 

“What's up, Cap!” he saluted. Peter could almost  _ hear  _ the frown in response.  _ The human embodiment of the American Way and all of its tendencies of throwing tea in the harbour just frowned at me. Oh my god. _

 

“We need you out of here. There's a weapon that-” 

 

A tramping of robot feet grew closer. The supersoldier paid it no attention. Peter fired a web over the head of the face of patriotism and the clanking stopped. He heard Captain America’s sharp intake of breath as he viewed the close call, then the forced exhale as he presumably spun back around.

 

“... Thanks,” the man said shortly before leaping back into his excuses for Peter to leave. “There’s a weapon that Tony suspects can impact the victim of its fire permanently, and you're not experienced enough to be in the face of that.”

 

_ Bold words from a guy that got slammed into a wall five minutes ago, but go off, I guess. _

 

“Okay, I see where you're coming from, but consider this: I can help! I have experience! I stole your shield! That was wild. You dropped a container on me, actually. Do you remember that? It was pretty heavy, but I managed that too! Come o-!”

 

“ _ Spider-Man _ .” Peter didn't flinch. That was his Captain Voice. He'd heard it enough.

 

“So,” Peter muttered under his breath. “You think I give a -”

 

“ _ Kid _ .” That was Tony, through the comm. Peter  _ did  _ wince this time. “I'll see you back at the tower.” His tone left no room for argument.

 

Peter deflated. “ _ Fine. _ Have fun. Honour to meet you, sir,” he saluted at Cap once more. “And god bless America.”

 

He shot a few last webs at the robots clanking around Mr. Stark. Now. How to get out.

 

There was a dusty window, he recollected vaguely, in this corner. Crawling up the wall, he felt the rough stone make a point.  _ Yes!  _ He fumbled for the latches, then shot a web at the inside wall. Peter carefully lowered himself out, fingers fumbling over the web-rope. The window slammed shut behind him. He dropped to the grass.

 

It was still kind of exhilarating, fighting in the dark. (By  _ exhilarating _ , he means extremely scary. His stomach roiled, but he couldn't take the damn thing off yet.)

 

Peter began walking forward. He’d fall into the bush eventually. It was Parker Luck.  _ Stark Tower, here we come. _

 

_ Aw man,  _ Peter realized,  _ he's going to kill me. _

 

_ *** _

 

After tripping over three (3), Peter had resigned himself to finding transport. Why was there a bus stop next to a secret lair?

 

If the driver was surprised about Spider-Man slouching onto his bus, it didn't show in his voice. The guy’s heart got a little bit faster though. He could hear it.

 

Spiderman paid his fare and groped for the ticket, muttering a “thanks” as he stumbled into the main area.

 

There were only a few places left - he awkwardly sat down in a space that he couldn't hear anyone breathing in, and tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath from the person beside him.

 

They obviously decided that he didn't need bothering though, because some sort of clicking from their direction started up. It paused for a second. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” the person (a young boy by the sound of it) said to themselves quietly before the click-clacking started up again.

 

_ Clink-clank,  _ hissed his mind,  _ just like the bots. _ He forcibly made his muscles relax. Didn't want to scare anyone. The spidey-sense rang all the same.

 

His transport jerked and rumbled over the cracks and bumps of New York, and he could feel every inch of road beneath them. The engine thrummed, releasing the smell of gasoline that mixed with the thick odours of the people around him. He could detect a quiet Skype conversation in the back, paper brushing skin, the subtle  _ buzz  _ of a smartphone.  _ Click-clack, click-clack  _ next to him.

 

“What are you doing?” he whispered to the kid. They gasped again before replying, albeit nervously.

 

“Knitting.”

 

“Dude,  _ nice _ .” The kid laughed and Peter’s heart glowed. “What’re you making?”

 

“Gonna make a scarf.” He was grinning, Peter was sure of it. You could hear the happy lilt in his voice.

 

“That's so cool!” he smiled back.

 

“Yeah! Jamie said it was weird but Grandma said that-” the kid cut himself off on the last sentence. “Grandma said that I couldn't say what she said but she said that she was happy that I was knitting.”

 

“Jamie probably just doesn't know how to knit - you can’t listen to people who tell you to stop doing things you love,” Peter winced, thinking of the arguments that had lasted for weeks after May had found out about his ‘after-school activities’. He bounced back fast. “I mostly sew, but knitting is like -  _ woah _ . You made that? By going clickety-clack? Amazing!” he beamed, keeping his voice low.

 

The masked teen tapped his fingers restlessly against his thigh, then rubbed his palms up and down them. The friction was comforting.

 

“ _ Wow,  _ Spider-Man sews?” the boy sounded genuinely astonished.

 

“Yup! But it's not as cool as your knitting.”

 

“ _ You think I'm cool? _ ”

 

Peter bit back a laugh. “I think you're cool.”

 

“ _ Wow. _ Hey wait, isn't this your stop?”

 

Peter frowned under the mask. With the conversation ongoing, he'd almost forgotten about the thing not letting him see, and thus not knowing where he was. He pushed the sudden jolt of fear down. “Are we near Stark Tower?”

 

“Yeah, look!”

 

Peter turned his head in the approximate direction of the window, and made sure his grin was wide enough so that the kid could recognise it under the mask. “Fantastic! I'll see you around, dude. Don't let Jamie get you down!” He held out his hand blindly for a fistbump, and felt a much, much smaller fist connect.  _ Awwwww. _

 

“I won't!” And with that, Peter made his way off the bus and into the tower.  _ Forgot to catch the kid’s name.  _ He slammed into the glass wall trying to find the entrance.

 

The teen was feeling sick at this not-seeing thing, queasiness churning in his stomach and making his throat dry. He'd be able to take his mask off soon.  _ You can do this. _

 

Stumbling in from the elevator into the penthouse, Peter concentrated for a second, checking if anyone was around. The dark of his vision still remained, but he couldn't risk taking his mask off if there were people to see it.

 

The open space was quiet. An open window trickled cool air into the room. No one breathed.

 

There wasn't anyone.  _ Oh, thank god.  _ His fingers fumbled around the edge of his mask, the itch to take it off increasing in urgency. He finally hooked a digit underneath, and ripped it off.

 

The black of his vision stayed.

 

His heart beat a little faster.

 

Peter blinked a few times. He curled his hand into a fist, feeling the very  _ taken-off  _ spandex of his mask scrunch in his grip. Shakily, he inhaled. “FRIDAY, turn on the lights, please.”

 

The buzz of electricity from the tower and his own thumping pulse was all he could hear.

  
“ _ The lights are on, Mr. Parker. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. have most of the fic written but. not the next chapter for some reason. updates are at my whim. good luck with t h a t, and im really sorry about t h i s

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god you made it to the end hello, hi, wtf dude
> 
> the original plan was to put 5k of the fic in the first chapter and i suddenlyrealised that that may be a Bad Idea sjskffksgs
> 
> i actually do have most of the rest of this fic written!! just missing a few scenes and a bit of a polish needed
> 
> i know it sucks! but i had fun writing it!


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